Prologue The Great Northern Desert
by hellfirestar
Summary: In the prologue to this tale, we meet the wanderer, who has returned to the place of her birth after countless years. This is the opening to a much longer story based on the HighlanderImmortal lore.


**PROLOGUE**

**The Great Northern Desert**

The wanderer clutched her cloak as the wind picked up. The sand hit her face and hands, numbing them to the point where she began to wonder if she could maintain control of her fingers. She figured she would know the answer to that if the wind claimed her cloak and left her exposed to the elements.

The guide walked a few meters in front of her. He wore the same type of cloak that she wore, a garment that was a necessity in the desert climate. With each gust of wind, the sand would engulf both of them and she would momentarily lose sight of him, but as the sand died down, she could make out his short, stout form in front of her, walking on, paying no mind to the wind and sand.

There were not too many settlements out here. Many years ago there were, and every now and then, she could make out the remains of ancient buildings in various stages of ruin. In a small town several hours ago, she saw someone staring at them through a window from such a building on the side of the road. She only caught a glimpse of him, not wanting to give away a tactical advantage. He looked no different than most of the men in this part of the world; old and haggard (though he was probably younger than he looked, as most people are on this part of the world), sunken cheeks, with a wild look in his eye. As they walked past, she kept her peripheral vision focused on his silhouette at the window and she cautiously placed her hand on the hilt of her sword. There was no adrenaline rush and no anticipation, but she would react with deadly and frightening speed and precision if the stranger made the poor choice of attacking. One step at a time, the building was left in the sands behind them. The wild stranger would live another day after all.

They had been on the move now for seven hours. The windstorms had picked up during the last two, at times making it impossible to see a few feet ahead. There was a small building in the distance. She noticed that her guide was slowing down, not because he was tired of the walk, she realized, but to let her catch up to him.

"We should rest for awhile now," he said, in a voice as tired as he looked. "We have a long way to go, and this might be the last shelter we come across for many miles."

"As you wish," she replied, still finding it strange to speak in that language after so many years.

The building turned out to be an old fuel depot. There was a fallen sign in front of the building. She took a look at it, but she could not make out the language. She knew that she had seen these markings on an everyday basis a long time ago, but those memories had faded into the past along with the world. Not much remained of the old fuel pumps, and there was a rusted and wind worn shell of a land vehicle at one side of the depot.

The inside of the building was dark and dusty, but she had no complaints. The room they were in had been cleared out, and there were timbers in the middle of the floor from a fire someone had lit months ago. There were shelves pushed against the walls, but she did not delude herself into thinking that they would contain anything they could eat. She pulled back the hood of her cloak and touched her face. She hadn't realized how constant the feeling of sand and wind blowing on her face had been, to the point that she began to ignore it.

Her guide pulled out a fusion torch from his backpack, activated it, and placed it on the timbers. The contraption opened and began to glow a hot red. Immediately she felt the warmth emanating from it and she sat down in front of it. Her guide sat across from her and pulled out a bottle from his pack. He was about to take a sip when he noticed her looking at him. He offered it to her.

"No thanks, I still have some water," she responded.

As she was going through her own backpack, she could feel his eyes studying her closely. Not that he was being obvious about it, she was just used to getting those looks since her return. If she were he, she'd probably be looking, too. She still had her long, shoulder length hair, in complete contrast to all the women she had recently come across, who wore it close cropped in much the same manner that her guide wore it. Also, she was probably the lightest skinned person this man had ever seen in his life.

"You," he started, after a few minutes of staring in silence. "You are not from these lands. Are you from the north of the desert?"

She contemplated the question, not wanting to give away too much, yet not wanting to arouse suspicion by appearing to hold something back.

"No, I'm not from around here." She paused, trying to come up with the right wording in this language. "I have been... all over. I have been wandering for so long, it's hard to call one place home."

There was a bit of silence before he spoke again.

"Where were you born?"

"I was born on the other side of the Atlantis Ocean." She paused, to see if he was buying it. His expression betrayed no emotion. "My parents died when I was a little girl, and I have wandering ever since."

He studied her for a full minute, this time not trying to hide the fact. She met his gaze, her eyes not wavering.

"I don't believe you," he finally said, taking another drink from his bottle. "No one has been across the Atlantis Ocean since my grandmother's time. Why would anyone want to come across to wander these deserts?"

She looked him in the eye a while longer, then said "I'm not paying you to ask me questions, I'm paying you to get me to the city. Who I am and where I'm from does not matter. I'm paying you to do your job, and that should be enough for you."

She could tell from the way he now looked at her that she had not heard the end of it. He pulled back his hood and shook off the sand in his hair. After taking another drink from his bottle, he turned to her again.

"You speech is strange, as if you do not know the language. What language did your parents speak?"

She turned her gaze to the torch, ignoring him. She reached into her pack and pulled out a bit of food she had bought at their last stop; not much, just some cured meat and a piece of some kind of fruit that she did not recognize. As she bit into it, she realized she wasn't hungry; her mouth was dry and she was having trouble swallowing. She opted for another sip of water instead.

Nothing more was said for twenty minutes as they both stared at the torch in silence. Occasionally, he would glance at her in that questioning manner, but said nothing. Her guide lay down on his back, let out a sigh, and closed his eyes.

"I'm going to sleep now," he said. "You should get some sleep, too. We still have a long walk tomorrow."

The light from the sunset coming in through the cracks in the wall was a deep orange-red. She took off her backpack and set it beside her, then laid her head on it as a pillow. Without knowing she was doing so, she reached down and put her hand on the hilt of her sword. She realized what she was doing and quickly put the hilt back under her cloak. She was so used to feeling for her sword before sleeping that she would sometimes do it instinctively. She glanced at her guide, to see if he had noticed. He had.

"That is a strange weapon you have there," he said, rolling to his side to face her. "Not too effective against someone firing a plasma rifle at you, no?"

"It serves me just fine," she said, trying to sound as if carrying around a sword was the most natural thing in the world.

"I haven't seen one of those since I was a child. A band of thugs raided our settlement, killed a few people. They were all armed with those things. I always thought that if I'd had a rifle, or a good slingshot, I would have taken at least one of them down." He paused, contemplating another possible outcome. "Or, I'd probably be dead, like the others."

He trailed off, apparently deep in memory. For the first time she realized that this man must have endured so many hardships in his short life. She had thought that he was an opportunistic old man, willing to kill her in her sleep and run with her money if given the chance. It had never occurred to her that he might be thinking the same thing about her. She was the stranger, after all, with the strange hair, strange skin, strange speech, and strange weapon.

He lay back and closed his eyes. She needed to earn this man's trust, even if she was never going to see him again after tomorrow. She had misjudged too many people in her life, she had not trusted when she should have trusted, and as a result she had spent more years alone over her lifetime than she could count. Starting over with this one tired old man would make enough of a difference for her.

She spoke softly, trying not to sound like she was questioning him. "Where you born in these lands?"

He opened his eyes as if he had just been asked the strangest question he could have been asked. She tried to show genuine interest in his response.

"No," he started, looking at her suspiciously. "I was born far from here, about two month's travel on foot towards the west, by the other ocean"

She tried to calculate the distance in miles. On a good day, she could average fifty miles on foot. Two months at fifty miles a day... three thousand miles? That would mean he's from ... she couldn't remember the name of the place, though she was sure she had been there before. Too long ago, before this was all a desert.

She decided to ask her guide. "What was the name of your town?" He looked at her, this time not hiding the suspicion. "I may have been there before." Before she was done saying it, she knew he wasn't going to believe her.

"I doubt it, lady. Everyone would have remembered someone like you. I doubt you've ever been there before."

All of a sudden, it hit her. "Are you from California?"

There was genuine fear in his eyes. "What did you say?"

"The place you're from, is it called California?"

He sat up and stared at the torch, his eyes darting to and fro, as if seeing long-lost memories for the first time in may years. She sat up also, wondering whether she should go to his side. She decided against it. He still did not trust her and he might misinterpret her action.

"Did I say something that offended you?" She asked.

He blinked, waking up from his waking dream. He wasn't looking at her in that suspicious manner any more, and his voice was softer as he spoke.

"My mother used to tell me that the land where our ancestors came from was called California, a state in a much bigger and powerful empire. She said it was a wondrous place in the golden age of the world." He looked at her in a way that troubled her. "Besides my mother, you are the only person I have ever heard mention that place."

_I don't think this trust game is going to work out_, she thought.

Her mind raced. "I think my grandmother told me a similar story." She knew that he was not going to let it go.

"Have you been west?" he asked, with a hopeful look in his eye.

Now she was in a worst bind than the one she had been trying to get out of. She was going to have to lie to this man, all because she had set out to earn his trust. If she had been alone, she would have laughed at the irony.

"No, I don't think so. I must have meant some other place, and I confused it with the old stories my mother used to tell me. I apologize."

He pondered her response. She became concerned when the look of wonder on his face slowly went back to suspicion.

"Just who the hell are you, anyway?" There was nothing veiled or discreet about his tone of voice. "What the hell do you want from me? You just walk out of the desert talking about things I haven't heard about since I was a child. Who the hell are you?"

She lay back against her pack, trying her best to look disinterested in his outburst. The time for subtleties was over; time to be quick and direct.

"No more questions. When we arrive, I will give you double of what we agreed if I don't hear your voice until morning. Understood?"

He lay back, grumbling to himself.

She didn't sleep that night, constantly aware of his eyes on her.

The sandstorm had died down by morning. She still covered her face with her cloak, but she could see the horizon in the distance. Her guide had respected her wishes and had been silent the entire morning. They awoke at the break of dawn, gathered their belongings, and were on their way without a single word exchanged between them. It occurred to her to try to gain his trust one more time, but decided against it. She had done enough. She figured that there would be a great many more people giving her mistrusting looks the next time she came by these lands. Once again, she had to smile to herself at the irony. If her mission succeeded, all of these people's lives would change forever. Right now, trusting her would be the last thing this man would do, but in a few weeks, his survival might be in her hands. But she was getting ahead of herself.

They were back to the monotony of walking through the desert. The sun was higher in the eastern sky as midday approached. It took her a few minutes before she realized that she wasn't walking on dirt anymore. She hadn't been for a while. She looked down and noticed that the dirt and sand had given way to a hard floor, like pavement, or asphalt. As she walked on, there were faded white markings along the path. They had stumbled upon an old road. Not stumbled, since her guide now walked alongside the white markings on the road.

There where more buildings along either side of the road than she had seen on their entire trip. Most of them were in various stages of decay, but there were a few that still seemed inhabited. A dog (is that what they're called?) barked at them from one of the windows. There was a bit of movement inside the house, then a face appeared and stared at them as they passed. Stared at _her_.

They walked on for two hours. It was now well past midday. There were more and more buildings along the road, but fewer and fewer people. In fact, she hadn't seen a single person for the last thirty minutes. She started to get an uneasy feeling in her stomach that somehow seemed very familiar. She was about to ask her guide why nobody lived in these buildings when she noticed something that troubled her more. In the four days that she had been following her guide she had gotten used to his lazy but constant gait. It was machine-like in its consistency, and he could maintain that tempo through the worst of the sandstorms. That gait had now changed. His pace had quickened. He glanced from side to side. It was as if he wanted to get past these buildings as quickly as possible. She took another glance around, trying to pinpoint what he was afraid of. She removed the hood of her cloak and put her nose to the wind, trying to get a scent. She pushed her hair over her ears, trying to hear anything out of the ordinary. She walked faster to keep up with her guide, the whole time constantly aware of her surroundings.

There were fewer and fewer buildings up ahead. If someone was keeping up with them under the cover of the buildings, he was about to run out of opportunities to attack. She took a risk and took a quick look around. Nothing. She figured that if there was someone following them, he was well aware that she was on to them, so she sped up to catch up with her guide. She had let herself fall too far behind; he was now a good fifty meters ahead of her. He was almost at the point where there were the buildings stopped. She decided to run for it.

She moved quickly, keeping her footfalls quiet, always listening. By then her heart was racing. She could feel it, something was about to happen. _Control the breathing_, she told herself. _That is the key to remaining calm and alert_.

She was about five meters from her guide when she saw something move on the far side of the road.

She stopped running and instinctively drew her sword. The wind had picked up again, but she could make out the silhouette of a person standing in the shadows. He wasn't moving, but she was pretty sure he was facing her. The feeling in her stomach was now overwhelming. She held her sword in front of her as she approached the figure.

"Show yourself," she called out, closing the distance one step at a time. The figure didn't move. "Show yourself or I will kill you."

She heard her guide stop his gait. She took a quick glance at him. He was frozen, staring at the figure. She motioned to him to stay back as she inched closer. She could now see that the figure was about her own height. In fact, she now saw the person was a woman. She looked at the figure's hands to see if she was holding a weapon, but they were empty. Her clothes seemed oddly out of place; they didn't seem torn and ragged, and she was wearing nothing resembling a cloak for the sandstorms. As she got closer, she couldn't help but think that she knew this woman from somewhere.

A second figure appeared. It had been crouching beside the woman, out of sight, but now stood and faced her as she approached. She tried not to lose her composure, even after she saw the glint of a sword at his side. She held the hilt of her own sword tighter as she moved even closer. She tensed, ready to defend. Then the woman stepped out of the shadows. She saw the woman's face and nearly dropped her sword.

It was her own face. The other woman came closer with her hand stretched out, appearing as surprised about the similarity between them. She took a step back from the woman, keeping her sword between them. She blinked and shook her head. Maybe this was some strange hallucination she was experiencing. Maybe if she closed her eyes, counted to three, and then opened them, the woman would disappear.

She closed her eyes and shook her head again. When she opened them, the woman was still there, still looking at her. Then the other figure stepped into the light and her heart nearly stopped. It was Julius. He looked at her for a few seconds, then turned his attention to his surroundings, as if seeing them for the first time. No, she thought, this wasn't Julius. This was Joseph. And the woman was indeed herself.. Why was she seeing herself as she had been in the distant past? She took a step forward, more deliberately this time, trying to think of something to say to the woman. She turned to see her guide, still standing there, looking scared and confused. When she turned back, the figures where gone. It was as if they hadn't even been there. She looked behind and around the building. Nothing. No sign of anyone having been there for years. The feeling in her stomach was also gone.

She made her way back to her guide, who for once seemed to distrust something else more than her.

"What did you see?" he asked.

"I don't know," she responded, thinking that there was more truth to that than she had at first thought. "I guess I was seeing things."

"It was a ghost," he said, looking to the spot where the figures had been just an instant ago. "No one comes this close to the ruins, and those that have and made it back alive talk of ghosts and creatures that peer at them from these buildings. These lands are cursed. We should move fast, we dare not get caught here in the night."

They resumed their walk. She stayed behind, looking towards the building, looking for any sign of movement in the shadows. She had the distinct feeling that she should know what had just happened. Why she should know made no sense whatsoever, but she couldn't shake the feeling. She took one last look towards the building. When she saw nothing, she sheathed her sword and set off after her guide.

A couple of hours later, her guide stopped walking and stared off into the distance. She stood beside him and looked towards the horizon. She could see the shape of the skyline through the sands, like a monstrous graveyard of skyscrapers, still a good thirty miles. She felt a mix of fear and nostalgia. Her guide had the look of someone that was really was staring at a graveyard, one in which the dead were coming alive.

"This is as far as I can take you," he said. He turned to her, and for the first time saw the trust she had been trying to earn. "I'm afraid to go any further."

She nodded, respecting his fear of the ruins. She removed her backpack and paid him.

"Any advice you can offer that can help me once I enter the city?" she asked.

He shuddered. "I don't know. I have never been in the city. Advice? Don't go if you don't have to."

She smiled, and was pleasantly surprised to see him smile back. She strapped on her backpack.

"I thank you for taking me this far. Besides, I'm not sure I would have wanted you to come with me any further." She bowed her head in his direction. "I thank you."

He bowed back. "Safe traveling."

She turned and walked towards the ruins.

A few minutes later, she came across a sign on the side of the road. It had fallen to the ground ages ago, and she was not expecting it to be legible. She was wrong. She brushed the sand off and propped it up against the rusted remains of a land vehicle. The writing was in the script and language of her youth, which she had thought she would never see again. It took her a minute to remember what sounds the symbols represented. She pronounced the words, to see how they felt.

Welcome to the

CITY OF NEW CHICAGO

After eight thousand years she had finally come home.


End file.
